


Gimme Shelter

by linndechir



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Season 5 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <a href="http://sentential.livejournal.com/5085.html">SoA comment ficathon</a>. The prompt was "Season 5 fic: even though their club duties keep them apart most of the time, Chibs always makes time to visit Juice. He needs to make sure the kid's doing okay, after all."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gimme Shelter

It's past midnight by the time Chibs pulls up in front of Juice's place, and he's so tired that he really just wants to go home, fall into his bed and sleep for twelve hours, but it's been days since he spent more than a few minutes at the clubhouse with Juice. What with all the shit going down – Pope and the cartel and Opie's death – it feels like he hasn't been alone with the kid for ages. He worries about him, 'cause, yeah, Juice has been calmer since they talked about his dad, and he doesn't seem to be looking for a way out anymore, but he's still quieter than he used to be, distant, and there's still that sad look in his eyes half the time that makes Chibs feel like he's somehow failing the kid. And, frankly, he just misses him.

So he rings at the door, once, twice, and he's just starting to get really worried when the door finally opens. It only occurs to him then, when he sees Juice with sleep in his eyes and dressed in nothing but boxers, that he woke him.

“Hey, man, did something happen?” Juice says even as he steps aside to let Chibs in, locks the door behind him. The corridor in Juice's flat is so narrow that they can barely stand next to each other without touching, and, yeah, Chibs has _definitely_ missed him. Still, he feels bad for robbing him of his much needed sleep.

“Nah, just checkin' in on ya.” He puts a hand on Juice's shoulder, feels the warmth of his skin even through the thin leather of his gloves. Juice moves a little into the touch, unconsciously, just the way he always moves nearer whenever Chibs is around, gravitating towards him even when they're in a room full of people. “You a'right? Hope Clay's not giving you a hard time.”

“No, it's okay. You don't need to worry about me.” And he smiles a little, a small, tired smile, not as bright as usual. “I, er, I don't really have any food here. I have some beer. I can make coffee if you like, but I think the milk went sour.”

That makes Chibs realise how long he hasn't been here, because he knows that Juice only keeps the milk for Chibs (who can go on for an hour in the morning about how coffee without milk is just disgusting; Juice drinks his black, and he'll listen and roll his eyes a little and promise he'll buy some milk next time). Juice still starts in the direction of the small kitchen, but Chibs holds him back, his hand sliding down to Juice's biceps. He used to think it was rather sweet, the way Juice always tried his best to make Chibs feel at home in this cramped little flat, until he realised that Juice only did that because he was afraid that Chibs didn't really want to stay, that Juice somehow had to make up for … that was where Juice's logic stopped making sense, because the kid always assumed that keeping him company was some sort of chore for Chibs.

“I didn't come here to raid your fridge, I know it's empty.” Even in the dark of the corridor Chibs can see the embarrassed smile on Juice's face at that, but it's a real smile, warm and soft and still a bit sleepy, the smile he sometimes sees in the morning when Juice wakes up curled against him. But then Juice frowns a little, as if trying to figure out what else Chibs could want, and it only takes him a second to step closer again, one hand going for Chibs' groin, and even through thick denim the touch sets his nerves on fire. He bites back a groan and grabs Juice's wrist.

“Jesus, lad, if you're in such a hurry to get back to bed, maybe I should just let you sleep.” And it's really not like he came here for that, or at least not only for that. It stings a little that Juice still seems to forget sometimes that Chibs actually cares, but it's probably easy to forget for a kid who never had anyone to care about him, and without the constant reminders Juice had grown used to, it was hardly surprising that he reverted to old habits.

“Sorry,” Juice mumbles, but instead of turning away he steps even more into Chibs' personal space, just pressing against him the way he always does, like he's trying to curl himself into Chibs' body, and Chibs tightens his arms around Juice. The kid smells of toothpaste and shaving foam, he's warm and welcoming and still so genuinely happy to touch Chibs that for the first time since he got out of Stockton, he feels like he's actually come home. It's a good feeling, after a day spent with cartel deals, after watching Jax beat that prison guard to death. And as if Juice has read his mind, he says, “'s just so much shit going on right now, it's like it doesn't ever stop anymore. Just one blow after the other.”

“I know, Juicey. It's gonna be a'right,” Chibs says, and what he means is _I missed you, too, but I'm here now, you don't have to worry about any of it, not tonight_. But it's not the kind of thing they say, even though Chibs sometimes thinks Juice would need to hear it, so he just holds him tighter, strokes his neck while Juice presses his face against the leather of Chibs' shirt. He snivels a little, like he's trying not to cry. Chibs pretends he doesn't notice and keeps him close, makes sure that Juice feels welcome.

He hears the clock ticking from the kitchen, that damn thing that's never quite right, but always makes so much noise that you even hear it in Juice's bedroom. He listens to it now as he holds Juice, lets the kid cling to him for as long as he needs, and if he's quite honest with himself, he needs it, too, this moment of calm. Because Juice is right, they don't get many of those these days. He's not counting the seconds, but he guesses that a couple of minutes pass before Juice moves again, lifts his head until his nose bumps against Chibs' chin.

“You wanna stay?” His voice is a little choked, almost like he's actually been crying, but the look in his dark eyes is hopeful. And Chibs knows what he's asking, doesn't want Juice to think he only came here to get his rocks off, but he knows Juice well enough to be sure that the kid would be devastated if he left now. Not that he wanted to leave. 

“I'll even go out in the morning and buy some damn milk,” Juice adds, like he has to convince Chibs, like it actually fucking matters, and that's when he kisses Juice, sighs when he feels that soft pliant mouth under his lips and tongue, and, fuck, he's missed kissing Juice, missed the way Juice just presses back against him, the way those strong hands curl into the leather of his shoulder holsters, and even then it never really seems like Juice is grabbing him, more like he's just holding on, holding him close, always wanting more and never quite asking for it. Chibs fumbles a little to take off his gloves – not so much because Juice minds them but because he'd rather feel some skin under his hands – curses a little when the leather clings to his hands, and Juice chuckles against his lips. 

“You could help me, y'know?” Chibs grumbles, smacks Juice's ass lightly when he finally gets the gloves off. Juice is still laughing, but he unbuttons Chibs' shirt and slips his hands under the tank top Chibs always wears under the leather. Juice's hands are always warm, and this, too, feels like home. Chibs tries to get them to the bedroom, but they only stumble against the closest wall, Juice groaning a little when Chibs presses him against it.

It's hardly comfortable, standing in the dark like that, Chibs' hands fumbling with his belt and his fly and then Juice's underwear, and he feels like it takes him ages before he finally wraps his fingers around both their cocks; too dry and it occurs to him that a bit of spit would probably help, but he doesn't want to let go again. Not with the way Juice is clinging to him, one hand clutching Chibs' cut and the other bruising his hip, not with the sloppy, breathless kisses and Juice's hips arching forward to meet every stroke. Chibs keeps his other hand on Juice's neck, thumb petting his throat, never once taking his lips off Juice's, and, yeah, he should probably be embarrassed by how quickly it's over, for all that they're behaving like it they're not teenagers anymore, but he can't really bring himself to give a damn when he comes just a few seconds after Juice, half drunk on the kid's moans.

They stay like that, Chibs leaning against Juice leaning against the wall, and he's not really sure how they manage to stay on their feet. Chibs rests his forehead against Juice's shoulder – so damn smooth, smoother than most girls' he's slept with – breathing in Juice's scent, and his skin tingles where Juice's hands keep touching him. The clock's still ticking too loudly, but Chibs is just listening to Juice's heavy breathing, or maybe his own, he isn't quite sure about that anymore.

“Fuck,” Juice finally says. “I needed this.”

Chibs thinks that's his clue to let go, so they can clean up the mess they've just made, but Juice's arms stay wrapped around him under his shirt, and although Chibs sometimes forgets it, the kid is damn strong. So he just nods and stays where he is, crowding Juice between his body and the wall, knowing it just makes Juice feel safe. They don't talk for a while, and Chibs focuses on Juice's breath on his neck, Juice's hands on his back, Juice's leg wedged between his.

“Man.” Chibs smiles; Juice can never keep quiet for long. His voice is rougher this time. “I still can't believe Opie's gone.”

It's a pretty fucking weird thing to say right now, Chibs thinks, but he can't blame him. It's not like any of them can get what happened to Opie out of their heads.

“There's nothing we coulda done about it,” Chibs replies, just to say something. He knows it's not entirely true, knows _he_ could have done something, could have done what Opie did, but _Juice_ definitely couldn't have done anything, and he doesn't want the kid beating himself up about it.

“Yeah, I know. It's just … when we heard about what happened, and how it happened, how Pope wanted one of you dead – ” Juice is shivering in his arms, and not for the first time Chibs wishes he could keep all that shit away from him. It was hard on all of them, but Juice had already been through enough, he shouldn't have to deal with this, too. Juice takes a deep breath, continues quietly, “And my first thought was that I was relieved that it wasn't you. I mean, how fucked up is that? Opie dies, and before I think about him I think about you, that it could've been you, and, fuck, I don't know what I would've done ...”

“Juicey,” Chibs says, if only to interrupt him; strokes Juice's head in the hope that it'll calm him a bit, keeps his voice low and soft and hopes it sounds reassuring. “No use dwelling on that. You think I don't worry more about you than anyone else when we go out there? Why do you think I always keep an eye on you, huh?”

“'cause I'm a fuck-up?” But Juice's voice sounds a little less tense than before, and Chibs smiles a little against his skin.

“Aye, that too,” he teases, gets a small laugh from Juice as the kid buries his face against Chibs' shoulder. “It's gonna be a'right, you hear? Jax is gonna get us out of this cartel business, he's gonna fix this. We're all gonna be okay.” He's not sure if he still believes that anymore, and he's even less sure if Juice believes it after today's vote, but his words still seem to have the desired effect. Juice stops shivering, just goes limp in Chibs' arms and hangs on to him. He's heavier than he looks, and Chibs is starting to feel damn tired again.

“C'mon, Juicey, let's get cleaned up, before you fall asleep right here.” Juice nods, straightens up a little, but he keeps his arms around Chibs.

“Yeah. Thanks.” He nuzzles Chibs' neck, mumbles, “I love you, man.” Juice lets go before Chibs can reply, makes a bit of a face when he looks down at himself. “I just showered before you came.”

Chibs wiggles his eyebrows at that – can't expect him not to – and Juice rolls his eyes. But he's smiling again, as if just Chibs being there was enough already, and as Chibs follows him to the bathroom, he reminds himself that he needs to check in on Juice more often, club duties or not.


End file.
